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The Chriftian Penticoft.

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HYMN

XXX.

For the Chriftian Pentecoft.

To St. Luke's Tune: Or, as the 100 Pfalm.

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Reat was the day, the joy was great, When the divine difciples met; Whilft on their heads the Spirit came, And fat like tongues of cloven flame. 2 What gifts, what miracles he gave? And power to kill, and power to fave! Furnish'd their tongues with wond'rous [words, Inftead of fhields, and fpears, and fwords. 3 Thus arm'd, he fent the champions forth From Eaft to Weft, from South to North: Go, and affert your Saviour's caufe, Go, Spread the myft'ry of his cross.] 4 Thefe weapons of the holy war, Of what almighty force they are, To make our tubborn paffions bow, And lay the proudeft rebel low!

5 Nations, the learned and the rude, Are by these heav'nly arms fubdu'd? While Satan rages at his lofs,

And hates the doctrine of the cross.

6 Great King of grace, my heart fubdue, I would be led in triumph too,

A willing captive to my Lord,

And fing the vict'ries of his Word.

HYMN

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HYMN XXXI.

The Operations of the Holy Spirit.

To the 100 Pfalm Tune.

Ternal Spirit, we confefs

And fing the wonders of thy grace; Thy pow'r conveys our bleffings down From God the Father and the Son.

2 Inlightned by thine heavenly ray, Our fhades and darkness turn to day; Thine inward teachings make us know Our danger and our refuge too.

3 Thy pow'r and glory works within, And breaks the chains of reigning fin; Doth our imperious lufts fubdue, And forms our wretched hearts anew. The troubled confcience knows thy

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[voice,
Thy chearing words awake our joys;
Thy words allay the ftormy wind,
And calm the furges of the mind.

All Glory to thy wondrous Name,
Father of Mercy, God of Love,
Thus we exalt the Lord, the Lamb,
And thus we praife the Heav'nly Dove.

Against DRUNKENNESS.
A Poem. By Dr.Watts.

I.

Sit not strange that ev'ry creature Should know the measure of its thirst, (They drink but to fupport their nature, And give due moisture to their duft ;)

II.

While man, vile man, whose nobler kind
Should fcorn to act beneath the beast,
Drowns all the glories of his mind,
And kills his foul to please his taste?
III.

O what a hateful, fhameful fight,
Are drunkards reeling through the Street!
Now they are fond, and now they fight,
And pour their fhame on all they meet.
IV.

Is it fo exquifite a pleasure

To troll down liquor through the throat, And fwill, and know no bound nor measure, 'Till fenfe and reason are forgot?

V.

Do they deferve th' immortal name
Of Man, who fink fo far below?

Will GOD the Maker of their frame
Endure to see them fpoil it fo?
VI.

Can they e'er think of heav'n or grace,
Or hope for glory when they die?
Can fuch vile ghofts expect a place
Among the fhining fouls on high?

VII.

The meaneft feat is too refin'd
To entertain a drunkard there.
Ye finners of this loathfome kind,
Repent, or perifh in despair.

SPECTATOR, N° 576.

710 The Character of a Fashionable Fool.

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Remember a young man of very lively parts, and of a fprightly turn in converfation, who had only one fault, which was an inordinate defire of appearing fashionable. This ran him into many amours, and confequently into many diftempers. He never went to bed 'till two o'clock in the morning, because he would not be a queer fellow; and was every now and then knocked down by a conftable, to fignalize his vivacity. He was initiated into half a do

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